


Bibliophilia

by femmenerd



Series: Glimpses 'verse [6]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fuckbuddies, Library Sex, implied Ron/Hermione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-11
Updated: 2007-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenerd/pseuds/femmenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an HP crossover with my Faith/Dean (& Sam) fic Glimpses, so SPN/Buffyverse/HP. Should be self-explanatory though if you’re familiar with those three fandoms. Outsider POV on grown-up!Hermione, sort of. Future!fic for all three canons. Sam's a Watcher & Hermione's doing a fellowship. </p><p> </p><p> <i>Hermione is delighted at the entire concept of slayers, even though she herself is every inch the scholar; a supporting player out on the front lines. But a strong one. That is evident in everything she does: in the way she purses her mouth when staring at microfiche, or how she crinkles her forehead as she labors to explain her theories on the magical underpinnings of various demon activity.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>This is a woman who is accustomed to having the right answer.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bibliophilia

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [mona1347](http://mona1347.livejournal.com/) for the beta. 
> 
> Originally posted on LJ [[here]](http://femmenerd.livejournal.com/254966.html).

When he first meets her, it does not even occur to Sam that he will fuck her. Not that Hermione isn’t pretty–she fits his kink for women whose sex appeal bubbles just beneath the bookish surface or vice-versa. It’s hard to tell from one minute to the next: straight skirts and wild hair, upright posture and determined eyes.

Just... she’s so serious, and experienced-seeming in a foreign way. She fought in a different war than Sam did and won. 

But now they’re both new hands at a very old game, working feverishly on the sidelines between stacks of books. To prove themselves. 

He immediately knows that they were meant to be friends.

~

Hermione is delighted at the entire concept of slayers, even though she herself is every inch the scholar; a supporting player out on the front lines. But a strong one. That is evident in everything she does: in the way she purses her mouth when staring at microfiche, or how she crinkles her forehead as she labors to explain her theories on the magical underpinnings of various demon activity. 

This is a woman who is accustomed to having the right answer. 

~

They are both outsiders, even though technically this is her native soil, and the Watcher’s Council is now overrun with his countrymen–er, _people_. But boundaries are dissolving all around them: witches and wizards of her ilk finally cooperating openly with this crazy secret society that for so long attempted to hoard its knowledge. “Ordinary” people like Sam fighting alongside magically-enhanced warrior girls instead of just sticking to tweed and telling them what to do. 

Sam still feels like he’s on some kind of bizarre vacation where there are four star accommodations instead of grubby motel rooms or his brother’s chaotic household. Hermione says it’s the most meaningful work she’s done in years. She’s honored to be here. 

Sam sees the sadness in her eyes though at the end of the day when she packs up her briefcase full of papers and spellbooks.

“Come get a drink with me,” he cajoles. “I know you have beer in this country.”

“All right, very well,” Hermione replies slowly in the accent that sounds fancy to him even though she insists she comes from normal, middle-class stock. Dentists.

~

“I had a very ordinary childhood, really,” she says, sipping a glass of berry-colored wine and crossing her legs.

“Until you found out you were a witch and had to save the world from evil,” Sam deadpans. 

“Well...yes,” Hermione answers, rolling her eyes in a way that makes her seem adorably human. “But I didn’t know about that second bit from the start.”

Nor, he thinks, did she actually _have_ to, but she’s that kind of girl. Loyal. He’s read all about her actually, and her famous best friend–famous and yet across the ocean he’d been oblivious, not even really aware that there were other hunters besides his own dad and brother.

“My life was never normal for anyone anywhere, I’m pretty sure.”

“Mmmmm,” she murmurs. “You and Harry both.”

~

Sam calls Dean every Sunday, other times more than once per week. Sometimes he calls Dean’s cell and gets him when he’s working at the garage. Sometimes he rings– _calls_ –the home line and Faith answers. But she hates the phone and just says, “Hey Sammy, what’s up?” and passes the phone on to Dean or Jan. 

“You really should come over here at least once,” Sam says, even though he knows it’s a lost cause. 

“Sam. _Airplanes_ ,” Dean grumbles. “Also, I heard they eat something called ‘spotted dick’ over there and that’s just not right.”

So Sam just books his usual flight home for Christmas and starts counting the days.

~

It amuses Sam to imagine Hermione interacting with his family: Faith and Dean would look at her like she came from another planet but Jan would love her. It wouldn’t surprise Sam at all if some day his niece ended up here also, and she too would be impressed with Hermione’s various degrees, both “Muggle” and wizarding. Of course Sam also gets the feeling that not only would Hermione not flinch at getting dirt on her face if necessary but also that she’s not entirely unaccustomed to putting up with the antics of hotheaded boys, a category into which he’d place both Dean and Faith regardless of assigned body parts. 

She’s easy to rile up though, and with decades of experience as a little brother, this is a quality Sam appreciates in a friend. All he has to do is imply seriously that there might be something in a document that she’s overlooked and Hermione just about goes into conniption fits. Late nights in the Council library and her carefully tamed hair unravels as vivacious as her brain as she twists and pulls it out of its updo with her fingers. 

He knows that if Hermione wanted to extend her fellowship into a full-time position all she’d have to do is say the word. She could do anything that she wants.

What she wants right now is to have her way with him, and Sam wouldn’t dare question her judgement. This in spite of the fact that he’s seen the miraculous-to-him moving photograph she keeps face down in her quarters: a tall, redheaded man wearing the long robes that remind Sam that Hermione comes from an entirely different world straight out of a paperback fantasy novel and a dimpled grin so intimate that Sam immediately shoved the picture back down on her dresser because it made him feel like a voyeur.

He fucks her bent over a solid oak table laden with their combined research materials. Hermione pierces the cool, academic silence of the special collections room with strangled British curse words he wonders if anyone else has ever heard her utter. Sam yanks her skirt up higher over her hips and punctuates his thrusts with slaps of his hand that echo from her round, white ass up to the rafters and back. 

“You’re a hell of a woman,” Sam says breathlessly after she’s done swallowing his cock in between the Slayer lore and History of Dark Magic stacks. He pulls her up gently until she reaches her full height–the top of her bushy head just reaching his nipples–and leans down to whisper, “I bet someone’s missing this.”

She blushes and looks up at him to say defiantly, “I imagine you think I’m quite the prude–you’re only the second bloke I’ve ever been with.”

“I would’ve married the first girl I slept with,” Sam responds quietly, zipping up his fly, “but life didn’t turn out that way.”

For once Hermione doesn’t have anything to say, so Sam saves her by changing the subject back with honest flattery. “And I don’t think you’re a prude–statistics don’t matter if you’ve got skills. And you’ve got those in spades, Ms. Granger.” She turns pinker at that and looks pleased. 

~

There’s a ring on her finger when Sam comes back from his holidays in America. He’s not insulted but he still doesn’t miss his opportunity to tease Hermione with, “So I drove you into monogamy, huh?”

She looks flustered until Sam makes it clear that he’s just kidding, that he’s happy for her. And being her, Hermione’s more concerned that anyone might think she’s abandoning her career. “It’s not just–I mean, there are other opportunities for me back there,” she stutters.

Sam smiles and pats her on the back, saying, “Well, I’m taking a herd of slayers-in-training back to the States with me. Gonna move into the house right next to my brother.”

“Oh, that’s lovely, Sam!” Hermione says, sounding as excited for him as she is for herself. Then softer, “You’re lovely. I....won’t forget.”


End file.
